The music was reminiscent of an Irish jig and the band of tunnel musicians expert at their craft. Couples whirled dizzingly around the circle cleared in the Great Hall, breathless and laughing when occasionally it was necessary for onlookers to propel them back to the centre, so rapid were their steps.

Vincent and Catherine were no exception, other than the fact that Vincent’s steady grip around his partner’s waist and his instinctive sure-footed steps moved them unerringly around the floor.  When the music finally ceased, Catherine leaned back in Vincent’s arms, her eyes shining and her face flushed with a combination of excitement, warmth, and an overindulgence of William’s specially concocted birthday punch.

“That was such fun, Vincent! I haven’t danced like that since…oh, since grade school!”

He tilted his head in fond amusement. “I’m surprised you can remember such an historic occasion, Catherine.”

Her jaw dropped in astonishment at his open teasing. “Vincent!  You…you…”

He bent his head to whisper intimately in her ear. “’Now, Catherine…you weren’t going to say Beast, were you?” Her laughter bubbled out of her and bathed Vincent in its infectious warmth. 

She punched him playfully in the stomach. “No, I wasn’t, but it would serve you right if I had! Actually, I was going to say you’re going to be very sorry for that inexcusably unchivalrous remark…especially on my birthday.”

Vincent pressed a splayed hand against his heart and assumed an air of contrition. “Forgive me, my lady…’twas a temptation too hard to resist.”

“Then I shall have to think of an appropriate punishment, won’t I?”

“What would you do with me, Catherine?”  

Her expression was immediately vampish, and she slipped her fingers behind him to stroke inside his leather belt, pulling him closer. “Oh, don’t you worry, Vincent. I’ll think of something. Who knows…you might even enjoy it.” She grinned and he felt a flush of colour creep up his neck. Catherine’s openly expressed love for him, as precious as it was, had become something of an embarrassment to Vincent of late. But whilst he was sometimes uncomfortable with her tactile expressions of affection in public, he was also unable to suppress a swell of pride that the beautiful young woman in his arms had eyes only for him.

“If I was in love with Cullen,” she had asked him recently, “and everyone saw me cuddle him, would they think it strange?”

No, he’d replied, but that was different. People weren’t used to seeing him as the object of such attention. Catherine’s reply to that had been typically pragmatic.  “Then they’re just going to have to get used to it. I love you, and I don’t intend to spend the rest of my life with my hands in my pockets worrying about their sensibilities! I want the whole world to see how much I love you, Vincent.”

There was no response he could have made to that other than to take her in his arms and clasp her to his heart as tightly as he dared. He certainly couldn’t reply verbally. Her declaration had robbed him of the power of speech and left him with a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball.

* * *

With Catherine’s birthday approaching at an alarming rate, the tunnel community had decided, without Vincent’s knowledge, to throw a birthday party for her, and she had arrived, blind-folded, earlier that evening to find the Great Hall bedecked with gaily colored homemade bunting and fairly jumping with atmosphere. Now, at ten-thirty, the party had been in full swing for over an hour and a half and everyone was having a ball.

“Vincent, I’m thirsty.  Could we get another drink?”

“Of course. Come.”

Taking her hand, he led her carefully through the throng of laughing, chattering bodies and located the table where drinks were being dispensed by some of the older residents not wishing to take part in the dancing. There were two huge bowls of punch; one labelled William’s Fire Cracker and the other Mary’s Fruit Delight. Vincent took two glasses and reached for the ladle in the non-alcoholic variety, but Catherine grabbed his wrist.

“No, Vincent, I prefer the Fire Cracker.”  He hesitated a moment, believing Catherine had consumed quite enough alcohol for one evening. “Might I suggest we both take this one, Catherine? You have already had four glasses of the other.” It was the wrong thing to say.

“What, are you counting?”

“Well, I…”

“Vincent, when I want your advice or opinion on how much I drink, I’ll ask for it…okay?” 

Suitably rebuked, Vincent inclined his head in capitulation and allowed her to fill her own glass.

“What about you? Can’t I persuade you to join me?”

“No thank you,” he replied, reaching for the other bowl again.  “One glass of Fire Cracker is enough for me.” 

Catherine turned away from the table, glass in hand. She took a long swallow and smiled serenely. After a moment she looked up at Vincent, slipping her arm through his. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. I can be…overprotective at times,” leaning towards her, he added conspiratorially, “like my father.” She grinned and he squeezed her fingers, lifting his glass to drink, feeling her eyes riveted on his throat. She tightened her grip on his arm and he sensed a familiar sensation stirring within her.

“It’s getting late. I have to work tomorrow, Vincent.” He looked down. What she said and what she meant were two very different things. Her eyes told him she wanted to spend some time alone with him.

“It is not yet eleven; do you think you should leave your guests so soon?” 

She pulled a face. “Probably not. I could fake a headache,” she added, brightening.

“A little…obvious, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. I know! We’ll say you’ve got a headache; all that dancing, you know?  I’ll tell Mary, if anyone asks, to say you needed to lie down and I’ve gone with you to make sure you’re all right.” She beamed up at him and Vincent shook his head in amused wonder at the white lies she would invent in order to get what she wanted.

“Catherine, it is quite obvious to anyone that I am perfectly well.  But…” he cut off her protest and leaned closer. “If you wish, we can go to your apartment now to pick up that newspaper article you mentioned to Father earlier.”

“Yes…let’s!”

They moved as one through the crowd, with Vincent hoping no one would stop to ask where they were going. He had no wish to tell even a white lie to any of his friends or family, but luck was with them since everyone seemed to be having such a good time that no one made any comment as they passed.

Walking through the amber-hued passageways, Catherine clung to Vincent’s arm with both hands. He noticed her movements were less precise than usual and wondered, again, about the quantity of alcohol she had consumed during the evening. They discussed the party and Catherine said how touched she was at such a gesture.

“It makes me feel I’m really one of you now.”

“You always have been, Catherine.”

“To you, yes, but now I feel as if everyone thinks of me as part of your world.  It’s a wonderful feeling, Vincent.” In answer he stopped, and as she automatically turned into him, held her chin between thumb and forefinger and kissed her. Immediately she slid her arms upwards around his neck and increased the pressure of his lips against hers. The response he felt in her was more powerful than ever before and his body reacted instinctively. Setting her from him, he hated himself when he saw the expression on her face.

“Vincent, what is it? I thought you wanted some time alone together as much as I do.”

“I do, Catherine, but…”

“Come on then.” She tugged at his hand and began to pull him onwards, weaving her way toward the basement entrance to her building. Vincent began to wonder if he had made the right decision when he agreed to them leaving the party and, more particularly, about the wisdom of kissing her in the tunnel.  When they reached the ladder, he practically had to carry her, so unsteady were her footsteps.

“Catherine, I cannot come with you in the elevator…are you going to be all right alone?”

She giggled and leaned against him. “Of course. I’ll see you upstairs, okay?”

“I’ll be as quick as I can. Take great care, Catherine.” 

She forced herself upright and blew him a kiss. “Byeeeeee Vincent. Love you.”

Scaling the building with his usual feline prowess, Vincent leapt over the balcony railing and moved swiftly to the French doors. Even through the glass, his acute hearing picked up the fact that Catherine was having trouble with the locks. He didn’t usually enter the apartment without her beside him, but on this occasion he decided the last thing he wanted was for Catherine to be outside in the hallway longer than necessary in her present condition. He opened the long windows and crossed to the street door, hearing her muffled curses as she again battled with the locks. Vincent examined the various security latches and soon had the door open. Catherine squealed in delight when she saw him and he hastily closed the door, reversing the procedure.

“Catherine, you need to rest. I came only to reassure myself that you were safe.  Is there anything you need before I leave?”

“Leave? You can’t leave, Vincent. I don’t want to rest…but I do want to go to bed.” Catherine slipped her arms around him and under his brown, suede vest.  He felt her hands on his back, moving sensuously over his shoulder blades. He gasped, and as his mouth opened, Catherine reached up to place hers very close, whispering to him:

“Vincent…oh, Vincent, I love you! I need you so badly…please! Love me…love me…love me!’  

Torn between his own rapidly mounting desire and the knowledge that Catherine was losing control of herself because of the alcohol, Vincent hesitated, unsure what to do. Catherine began to rub herself against him; her breasts warm and tantalising pushing against his chest; the area just below her stomach crushing and tormenting the other part of him that he struggled constantly to control whenever he was around Catherine. Vincent groaned, and for a moment allowed himself to experience the fantasy he lived in his dreams. Her hands moved from his back to his chest, wrenching open the soft suede thongs which held it together and literally tearing his shirt open in her desperation to touch him. Her fingers raked and stroked the golden fur, kneading and squeezing his flesh, and her mouth rained warm moist kisses down his breastbone. She nibbled and bit him, causing him to catch his breath. This was a different Catherine than he’d ever known before.

Tentatively he reached down and began to stroke the orbs of creamy white flesh compressed against him and heard her moan in ecstasy. “Unfasten my dress, Vincent,” she whispered urgently. “I want to feel your skin against mine…all of it! Quickly, please! I can’t wait much longer!”

Almost as if he was drugged, Vincent’s hand hovered over the zipper in the back of the scoop neck, blue cotton dress. “Vincent hurry, please!” Suddenly, as Catherine rubbed a hand over his throbbing arousal and unbuttoned his pants, sanity returned, slamming into Vincent as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

“NO!” he cried, brokenly. Thrusting her away from him, his heart convulsed as he saw her bewildered, flushed face. Her eyes had deepened to a rich forest green and she looked confused; as if she didn’t know what had happened. Her breath came raggedly, like his own, and her breasts heaved above the neckline of her dress.

“Wha…what’s wrong, Vincent? What did I do? Did I hurt you in some way? I didn’t mean…” she whispered, tears already forming in her pain-filled eyes.  

Vincent gripped her upper arms and shook her, more roughly than he intended, his own emotions raw with what had nearly transpired. “No, you didn’t hurt me…Catherine, this is not right! The time is not right. You are…not yourself! I cannot allow this to happen when you are not in control of your actions.” She stood like a rag doll, allowing him to shake her.

“Vincent, please! Please!” Her plea was wrenching and his heart shattered into a thousand pieces, for having to deny her. “No. Not like this…never like this.”  He strode into the bedroom and took her robe from the closet. Wrapping it around her, he tied the sash and lifted her, sobbing, into his arms. He carried her through to the bedroom and laid her down. Pulling the comforter over her, he bent to kiss her forehead tenderly, disengaging her arms once again as they rose to claim him.

“Don’t leave me, Vincent,” she cried, “please, please don’t! I love you!”

“And I love you, Catherine. But I cannot stay. Please do not ask me. Be safe.”

Suddenly Catherine sat up, the tears of pleading turning to anger. “Oh, go then!  Who needs you?” She swung an arm around wildly, slurring her words. “I could get a dozen guys up here, all happy to do what you’re being offered.”

His already shattered heart breaking anew, Vincent whirled and left the apartment. It wasn’t her bitter words with its empty threat. That was just the alcohol talking. But again he had caused nothing but pain to Catherine. Yet how could he have taken her when she was the worse for wear through alcohol?  What if she had regretted their lovemaking in the cold gray light of day? That would have been something from which they surely would never recover.

Feeling sick, both in heart and body, Vincent descended the building even more swiftly than he had arrived. In his tortured state, he missed his footing once and swung by one hand, heart pounding, from a fourth floor balcony railing until he could calm himself sufficiently to find a foothold.

Once he was safely on the ground, Vincent began to run. At first he clutched his ruined shirt together, but he felt so dangerously close to losing control himself, that after a few moments of running through the back streets and alleys, he welcomed the cold night air against his fevered skin. As soon as he was safely inside the nearest tunnel entrance, he fell back against the cool rock wall.

A plethora of emotions battered his head and he slid to the floor, trembling. He knew he’d done the right thing in not making love to Catherine, but even that didn’t ease the terrible guilt of leaving her, frustrated and angry, to spend the night alone; for of course she would. The sound of her voice pleading with him to stay, wracked him and twisted at his insides until, coupled with his own intense frustration, he felt physically ill. Resting his head back against the wall, he waited, breathing deeply, until he judged the churning within had subsided enough to walk without feeling the need to throw up. Hoping the party had finished and the guests had returned to their own chambers, Vincent rose on shaky legs and began to make his way home. He could still hear strains of the music and realised it was still much too early for the party to have finished.  Three times he had to duck into an outlying tunnel to avoid a happy group of people. If one thing could make him feel worse than he already did, it was the prospect of their shocked faces and the inevitable questions that would follow concerning his ravaged appearance and the whereabouts of Catherine. He didn’t have the inclination or the strength to speak to anyone right now.

Eventually, alone in his chamber, he didn’t even think of undressing. He merely tugged off his boots and lay down on his back, one arm thrown across his eyes.  Ironically, he didn’t have to worry about bringing some form of relief to his tormented body. He felt so nauseous that the problem had quite literally shrunk as a priority. Taking long, cleansing breaths, Vincent lay very still and tried to make his mind a blank. Torturing himself, he knew, would only exacerbate his discomfort.

Despite feeling that he would remain awake all night, he was surprised to find he awoke at seven-fifteen feeling much better. After a much needed shower, he dressed in fresh clothes and went about his usual business, shelving the altercation with Catherine until a more appropriate time.

He’d just eaten a sandwich during the break from stripping out one of the oldest residential chambers when one of the men called him.

“Vincent, there’s a message just come over on the pipes. Catherine’s here. She’s waiting for you in your chamber.”

Vincent nodded and rose. “I’ll be back.”

She looked pale and anxious, pacing back and forth from the bed to the table when he arrived.

“Catherine.

“Vincent…”

They both spoke at once and then smiled hesitantly.

“Won’t you sit down, Catherine?”

 She fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket. “No, I…”

“Forgive me, Catherine…please.”

“Oh, Vincent!” She ran into his arms and sobbed against his chest while he just held her, cradling her head with one hand. After a few minutes she drew back, looking up at him with a tear-stained face. “Can you ever forgive me, Vincent? I acted like a whore last night.”

“Sshhh.”

“No, I did, and I put you through hell. I should have listened to you when you told me I’d had too much to drink.” She laid one palm flat on his chest and stroked his cheek with the other. “Vincent, I know how much I must have hurt you last night. My selfishness caused you pain again when all I want is to make you happy.”

“Catherine, I…”

“No, please love, let me finish. I’m on a roll,” she smiled tearfully. “I respect you, Vincent, even though it didn’t seem that way last night. But I do, and I know you’re too much of a gentleman to have let me have what I wanted because I was drunk.”

“I was afraid you’d regret it when you were sober.” 

Catherine frowned up at him. “Is that really what you thought?”

“Yes.” He dropped his head, a gesture which brought Catherine’s fingers under his chin to look at her again. “Vincent, listen to me. I was drunk last night and I behaved like a tramp…but I want you now as much as I wanted you then. Don’t think, for one second, that I didn’t know what I was doing. I just went about it all the wrong way because of the alcohol. I want to thank you for not giving in to me…but I’m not going to promise that I won’t try and make love to you again.  Are you clear about that?”

Vincent smiled and stroked one hand behind her ear and through her hair. “I’m glad you understand why I couldn’t stay last night. Catherine, I want the first time for us to be when we are both completely clear in our hearts and minds.  That there will be no possible doubt that the time is right.”

Catherine’s expression changed to one of disbelief. “Vincent…what did you say?”

“I said I’m glad you understand…” 

She shook her head vehemently. “No, not that. What you said afterwards.”

He frowned, pretending to think. “I said I want the first time for us to…”

“The first time…you actually said the first time! Do you mean it, Vincent? Do you really mean it?”

He positioned her head so that when he kissed her, it would be exactly right. “Yes, Catherine. I really mean it. I will not risk losing you to someone else one day because of my doubts and fears. If you have the courage to face a future with me, then how can I not do likewise? I will love you for the rest of my life…in every way.”

“Oh, Vincent…”

She had been going to say he’d never lose her, whatever did or didn’t happen;  that she remembered saying something terrible to him last night and that she hadn’t meant a word of it, but her explanation and apology was lost as Vincent’s mouth closed over hers, so she had to settle for holding him as tightly as he held her. Vincent treasured the bond that conveyed all Catherine’s feelings to him, but he didn’t need it now. Her devotion swept over him in waves, cherishing him and promising him a lifetime of love.